A few customers came up to her, and Whitney served them one after another. The bar quickly got busy as the club filled up. There were more people here than ever before. It looked like the place was finally starting to take off.
“We heard you do flaming shots,” a redhead said, looking up at her from under long fake eyelashes. “Can you do a Flaming Dr. Pepper?”
“How many do you want?”
“I want the entire table to get smashed.”
“Coming right up.”
Whitney lined up twelve shot glasses, pouring a mix of amaretto and rum into each. She pulled out the long lighter that she kept behind the bar, and the group gasped as she set the drinks on fire. They blazed high for a moment, quickly burning down so the flames were contained within each glass. Each woman took one, then a second. Whitney raised an eyebrow and watched as they cheered each other on.
“Thank you so much,” the first girl said, tipping her as much as the shots had cost.
The night went on, and Whitney wondered if she would ever have a minute to herself. The customers came at her one after another. Now that word was spreading about her bartending abilities, each wanted a fancier presentation than the last. Flames, juggling… it was a thrill, but it was also exhausting. She found it hard to keep the smile on her face as the night wore on.
Sometime shortly before last call, the flow of drinkers slowed to a trickle. She looked around, seeing that no one was approaching the bar. This was a good time to slip out. She moved toward the DJ booth, already thrilled by the sight of Yolanda sitting there. Putting her elbows on the divider, she leaned in.
“What’s up?” Yolanda asked.
“I wanted to request a song. Would you play All The Things She Said?”
Whitney wondered if it was too soon to be making jokes like that, but fortunately Yolanda just laughed. “If I did, you would have to go onstage.”
“Not likely.”
“What, you wouldn’t get your T-shirt wet in front of an audience of screaming fans?”
“Not likely.”
“That’s a shame,” Yolanda said, leering at Whitney.
Whitney shook her head, amazed that she would even say that. “You’ve come a long way, you know.”
Yolanda’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
They looked at each other for a long moment.
Clearly Yolanda was gay or bisexual, at least going by her reactions to Whitney. But she was struggling with it, and Whitney found that hard to watch at times. She hated to see the woman she cared about having so much trouble with her sexuality. If only she could flip a switch and make Yolanda okay with their relationship. She had a feeling that was what was causing that constant crease in Yolanda’s forehead.
Yolanda gestured to the bar. “I think that customer wants a drink. You better get back.”
Whitney headed back to the bar regretfully, wishing she could just stay with Yolanda for the whole night. She couldn’t see how she had gotten this lucky. She hardly expected it to last, although she wished it would. All she planned for the moment was to enjoy it while it did last.
Last call came at two-thirty, and she began to clean up the bar. As she wiped down the counter, someone plucked the cloth out of her hand. She turned to see a tall, slim shadow behind her.
“Hey, I never said you could help me,” she said, putting her hands on Yolanda’s chest to push her away.
That was the last thing she wanted to be doing. Everything inside her urged her to wrap her arms around Yolanda and pull her in close.
“Since when do I need your permission to help?” Yolanda said, rubbing the cloth on the counter. She found a sticky spot and worked the cloth harder. “All I need is some elbow grease.”
“I’ve got plenty of that,” Whitney said, trying to take the cloth back. Yolanda grabbed it away from her.
If Yolanda hadn’t been so secretive about their relationship, Whitney would have put her arm around her, maybe tickled her into giving up the cloth. She could picture an entire playful fight centered on who would clean up the bar. After all, they’d already had similar fights over at her place.
“I’ll wipe you down,” Yolanda said, holding the cloth up to Whitney’s face.
Whitney took the chance to grab it, pulling it away quickly and then dabbing at Yolanda’s chest. “I think I see a spot on your shirt.”
“There’s a spot on your ass,” Yolanda said mischievously. Her dark eyes glinted in the neon lights, but she made no move toward that spot.
“Well, you’re not going to get it tonight.”
“I have to put on another song, but I’ll be back for it some other night.”
Whitney leaned on the counter, looking longingly after Yolanda. “Are you coming over after our shift?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
She walked away, her ponytail dancing tantalizingly behind her. Whitney pushed the cloth mindlessly on the counter. That woman was seductive and frustrating and completely enigmatic.
And she wanted her more than she had ever wanted anyone else.
Twenty-One
“Fuck, I’m tired,” Yolanda said as she slid into Whitney’s car.
She put her seatbelt on, leaning forward so her ponytail wouldn’t get caught. She still had a hard time believing that she was doing this, but at this point she was starting to get used to it. She still wasn’t sure what it meant, but she had decided to avoid labels for the moment and just do what felt good.
“I could take you straight home if you want,” Whitney offered, giving Yolanda a pensive glance from the driver’s seat. She rubbed a hand up to the base of her neck, and Yolanda envied her fingers for getting to touch those soft, downy hairs.
“Hell no,” Yolanda said. “I’m coming over to your place, at least for a little bit.”
“You just want to play with Valentine, don’t you?” Whitney asked, turning the key in the ignition.
“You figured me out.”
In truth, as adorable as the dog was, she made up perhaps one percent of her motivation to go over. She just wanted to spend some time alone with Whitney before going home to her family. Truth be told, she would have been quite willing to spend the night over there. Whitney hadn’t offered, though, and Yolanda worried about inviting herself.
When they got out of the car a few minutes later, Yolanda led the way up to Whitney’s apartment. Her heart was already racing in anticipation of what they were about to do.
“Take off your shirt,” Whitney ordered, closing the bedroom door behind them.
Yolanda quickly complied. She felt strange to have her chest bare while Whitney stayed fully clothed, but that seemed to be what Whitney wanted. She couldn’t say no to anything Whitney asked. Whitney still gave her shivers through her entire body while simultaneously heating up her skin.
She lay down in Whitney’s bed, her whole body on edge. She felt hot, as if it was much warmer in here than it actually was. She looked at Whitney as Whitney climbed onto the bed beside her. The fingers that trailed between her pecs and along her abs left a trail of heat in their wake.
Reaching out for Whitney’s waistline, Yolanda tried to find the button on her jeans. It was no surprise when Whitney pushed her hand away. “I’m just going to please you.”
“All right,” Yolanda said, undoing her own pants instead. “I had to try.”
“Says the woman who was so straight a week ago,” Whitney murmured.
Yolanda shrugged, unwilling to let anything get her down right now. She knew from experience that Whitney was about to blow her mind. Every little thing she did made her quiver and shake. Yolanda had never experienced pleasure like what Whitney did to her. She would put up with a lot if it meant they could continue to experience that.
Whitney’s fingers found her sex and she thrust them upward, Yolanda’s wetness soaking through her panties. The grey fabric turned darker, and she felt the dampness spread. She was already worked up beyond reason just by being so close to Whitne
y.
“I love how turned on you get,” Whitney said.
“Don’t talk,” Yolanda said. “Please. Just touch me.”
Whitney’s hand moved to her clit, gliding effortlessly with the slickness from her entrance. Yolanda moaned. When she kicked the panties off, she followed Whitney’s eyes. Whitney looked almost sad for a moment, but the glimpse quickly faded. Whitney’s hand found her again, rubbing a little harder this time, and the thought disappeared from Yolanda’s mind.
Yolanda struggled to breathe as Whitney leaned in and set her mouth in her hand’s place. These days, Whitney was going down on her regularly. Yolanda wouldn’t have dreamed of objecting.
Whitney’s tongue was warm and wet, and it stroked Yolanda with incredible skill. Yolanda squirmed into the mattress, then pressed upwards, forcing herself harder against Whitney’s mouth. Her hips worked on their own—she had no power over them anymore. She grabbed the back of Whitney’s neck, making sure that she would stay where she was.
As Whitney licked her, Yolanda’s hips bucked and she let her hands fall to the side. Her head thrashed back and forth, her legs closing around Whitney’s shoulders. She could hardly hold back from coming already. This felt better than she would have thought possible.
She had never known that anything could feel like this. Whitney did incredible things to her.
When Whitney’s fingers found their way inside her, Yolanda thought things could get no better. She gasped out, the slow stroking sending sparks all through her body. She was in ecstasy. “Fuck,” she gasped out.
Whitney reached up and found Yolanda’s nipple, squeezing and pinching it, and rolling it between her fingers. Yolanda’s nerves lit up, her other nipple aching for the same treatment. Whitney seemed to read her mind, and her hand moved forward to the other one as her mouth continued to do its work.
“Fuck,” Yolanda said again. That was the only thought that could form in her mind. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her voice rose and fell, the word coming out slightly differently every time as she repeated it over and over—first almost normally, then breathy, then gasping.
Whitney squeezed her nipple again, her other hand moving inside her, her tongue still working Yolanda’s clit. Whitney’s fingers did something—touched something inside her—and Yolanda’s body jerked wildly.
The sensation was so great that it left Yolanda unable to form words. What had Whitney done to her? “Fuck,” she howled, her body quaking and her hands clenching into fists. She screamed it out now. “Fuck! Fuck!”
Whitney stayed where she was until Yolanda’s aftershocks had passed.
Yolanda sat up slowly, having learned over the past week that she tended to get dizzy at this point. “You are amazing.”
“You enjoyed that?” Whitney asked.
All Yolanda could do was shake her head. What a question. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Of course you do.”
Whitney was smiling at her, giving her a look of complete satisfaction. But Yolanda was painfully aware of Whitney’s own arousal. She inched closer, making another tentative reach for her waistline.
Whitney pulled away, moving her entire body away instead of just smacking Yolanda’s hand. “I told you, you don’t need to do that.”
“I want to,” Yolanda said softly. “I’m not afraid anymore.”
“It’s not for your sake; it’s for mine,” Whitney said. “I don’t want you to.”
Yolanda’s brow furrowed. Whitney was giving her more pleasure than she had ever imagined, but she wouldn’t let her even begin to return the favor. She wanted to return the favor more than anything.
After all the years of denial, Yolanda had finally let a woman touch her, and it was better than she had ever imagined. She was more than ready to do the same back to Whitney. But the one woman she finally wanted was refusing her.
How could she be completely sure if she was a lesbian or not without touching Whitney? Maybe Whitney was just so skilled that any woman, straight or not, would have enjoyed her attentions. The final test of Yolanda’s sexuality was to actually go down on another woman and see how she felt about it. She was fairly sure that she could do it with Whitney, if she was given the chance.
“Why don’t you let me touch you?” Yolanda asked, her eyes fixed on Whitney’s.
“I just don’t want you to.”
“But why? There must be some reason. I told you I’m ready. If you don’t want me going down on you yet, I can at least touch you. Or I could watch you masturbate, if you don’t want me to touch you.”
“It’s okay, I’m telling you.” Whitney sounded irritated.
“It’s not okay,” Yolanda insisted. “This is too one-sided. I don’t think it’s fair.”
“It’s fair because I think it’s fair.”
Yolanda knew that she was pressing too hard, but she also knew that Whitney wanted this. She pulled herself over to where Whitney was and put her hand on her knee. “What if I touched you above your pants?” she asked, her eyes searching Whitney’s. “We could start there. Would that work for you?”
She wasn’t prepared for the way Whitney’s eyes flashed at her.
“I told you, I don’t want to do anything,” Whitney snapped, her lips pressing into a thin line. “If you can’t understand that, then maybe this isn’t going to work.”
Twenty-Two
The bed was empty when Whitney woke up a few hours later. It usually was, but something was different this time. She opened her eyes and stretched, yawning. The bed smelled different than usual. As she recognized the fruity scent of Yolanda’s shampoo, memories of the night before came back.
She let out a long exhale, a pleasurable twinge going through her the moment she remembered what they had done. It had been such a turn-on to rub her hands all over Yolanda’s body like that. She could still taste her in her mouth, feel Yolanda’s nipples hardening under her fingers…
She recalled Yolanda thrashing on the bed and screaming out, her voice rising higher and higher with each successive curse. Whitney’s hand drifted between her legs as she thought about what she had done to Yolanda.
But then she remembered pushing her away, and worse yet, what she had said. Maybe this isn’t going to work.
Whitney sighed as her hand landed between her thighs. She was turned on already, and she closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Just for one minute, she would push away the memory of the part that hurt.
Her hand moved between her legs, her fingers quickly finding their way into the practiced rhythm. This was exactly what she had done to Yolanda last night, but Yolanda’s reaction had been out of this world. It was as if Yolanda had never been touched before.
But she couldn’t do this without thinking of Yolanda, and thinking of Yolanda only made her think about how it had ended. She pulled her hand away with a sigh. She’d given Yolanda a ride home, during which they were nearly silent. She had let her out in front of her place, where Yolanda had glanced at her one more time as if expecting Whitney to lean over and give her a kiss again. Well, it hadn’t happened. Whitney had sat there staring forward blankly until Yolanda got out.
And now she was alone here, lying in bed with the sheet falling unnaturally where her knee should have been. She smoothed the sheet over her legs, wishing her body weren’t so fucked up. She would never let anyone see her like this.
With a sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She slid on the cup and joined the prosthetic to it. As she climbed out of bed, the cup rubbed against that blister. She sighed, knowing she’d been putting off seeing her prosthetist for a while now.
She went into the kitchen and opened a few cupboards, trying to think of something to eat, but she didn’t feel like having breakfast. In the living room, the science fiction book she was reading lay on the coffee table. She opened it to her bookmark and tried to find where she had left off. It had been a while since she’d last looked at it. Ever since Yolanda had first come over, she hadn’t had time for books.
<
br /> She looked up and down the page, but she couldn’t concentrate well enough to even remember who the characters were. She put it down, letting it drop to the couch beside her, and leaned back with her head against the cushion.
If she hadn’t lost her leg, she would have been overjoyed at the potential relationship that was developing between her and Yolanda. After overcoming what should have been the biggest obstacle between them—Yolanda’s presumed straightness—they should have been on solid ground.
But no, she had to go and lose her damn leg. Yolanda would never be attracted to her once she knew, and Whitney wasn’t about to let her find out. She would keep that secret to herself for the rest of her days.
It was none of anybody’s business. Few people even knew that she was a veteran before she let it slip to Maxwell. She preferred to leave her history in the past. That was a mistake she wouldn’t make again. Anyone she met from this point forward would believe that she was just an average girl. No military background. No Purple Heart. All limbs in place.
Because of her fuck-up, this potential relationship was destroyed before it had even started. She would never be able to have a relationship again. She had been living in fantasyland lately, pretending that she could have a normal relationship with a nice woman.
Valentine came up and nosed at her, and she reached out to hold her hand out to the dog. Valentine sniffed at it and gave her a lick. “It’s not working, girl,” Whitney told her. “You’re not making me feel any better.”
A low whine came from the dog’s throat as if she understood Whitney’s words. She jumped onto the couch next to Whitney and Whitney sat back, scratching the dog’s head.
“It’s just you and me,” she told her, letting her hand rest on Valentine’s head. “And that’s how it’s always going to be.”
The pup looked up at her, and her innocence just made Whitney feel worse. She stood up, suddenly needing to move. Juggling should make her feel better. She picked up three balls, tossing them into the air. One, two, three… She cursed out loud as the first fell to the floor. She caught the second two and slammed them down as well.
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